


Polaris

by merengue



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Eliott has a panic attack at school, Lucas helps him through it, M/M, half sad half fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 02:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17778836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merengue/pseuds/merengue
Summary: He can feel it, then, bone-deep, pulling him down like an anchor.The school corridors change shape, suddenly narrow: a couple of girls laugh in the distance, lockers opening and Eliott can see them, he knows what they sound like. But he can’t hear a word.





	Polaris

Eliott hates a lot of things. So many, he could even write them all down. White chocolate, for example. Way too pasty, too much sweetness pooling in the back of his tongue. Grey, dense clouds, the sky shutting off as if it were about to cry. He hates strawberries, infinite queues in his favourite coffee shop at the end of the street, looking for a lighter and not finding any in the cupboards of his room. It’s a long list and it wouldn’t be such a big deal, perhaps, if the one thing he hated the most weren’t how much all of this upsets him somehow.

It’s stupid, really. The way in which the most ridiculous stuff gets under his skin, taking on a life of its own. Itching and burning until it grows and starts feeding off him, making it suddenly difficult not to drown. The invisible cut starts bleeding and then nothing in the world can make it stop. He’s tried screaming. Crying. It depends. It’s unbearable, sometimes, in the blurry edges of the night. Knowing that his brain is broken, that he’ll never be able to learn how to make a wound scar so it can heal.

He hates them, too, on specially bad days. People, even if he doesn’t like saying it out loud. For the most stupid reasons. A couple of ill-timed words, even one weird stare are enough to do the trick sometimes.

The worst part is knowing that it’s all in his head, and the way in which knowing doesn't change things at all —that his wonky brain will still turn everything around until it becomes this cold, enormous monster he has to run away from, distancing himself from the rest of the world.

Eliott doesn’t want to be alone. He doesn’t want to  _feel_ alone.

“Eliott?”  
  
“Yeah?”

“Did you do your part of the assignment, like we agreed?”

The chemistry lab smells of ethanol and acid. The sun filters through the open windows and the contents of every flask bubble, flooding the room with vapour, deep orange and gold.

Jacob is staring at him, glasses on, waiting for his answer.

Truth is such a tricky thing. Because truth is, he didn’t do it. At all. But there’s also another truth, one that speaks silently of an afternoon spent entirely locked in his room, trying to shake a blanket of apathy off his back. Drawing imaginary patterns on the ceiling so he could focus on something that wasn’t the tightness around his ribs, sternum suddenly metallic, solid rock, for hours and hours on end.

Truth is, he didn't forget about the assignment. The exact pages of the book. If life had mattered something to him yesterday, if he could've mustered enough strength to care, maybe he could’ve sat down enough time to do his part of the job. It would’ve been a nice thing, being able to just sit down, work quietly, scribbling and the smell of ink. Then the world dissolved around the edges and he stopped remembering or caring about anything at all.

Another thing he hates, too: having to lie. Even if he’s an expert by now, even if sometimes it’s the only way.

“Fuck, man. I forgot”.

Eliott fakes his best face of shock, hoping it’s enough.

“What, really? I even reminded you to!”  
  
“Yeah, but my mum asked me to do this thing and also I had a meeting, I got caught up and—”

“For fuck’s sake, Eliott”, a click of the tongue. The boy, Jacob, looks away. Adding three drops of some clear liquid to the flask until it turns turquoise blue. “You’re a complete mess, man”.

It’s absurd. It really is. Jacob has a right to be angry, after all. But Eliott hasn’t slept and his ribs still feel tough and cold and he's sad and just like that, in a second, he can feel it all again. The tension pooling in the center of his stomach, burning hot.

_You are a mess._

He would like to tell Jacob he’s right. That he should get in line, in fact, if he’s thinking of going on about how he’s the most unreliable person in the world. Eliott gives himself the same talk at least twice a day.

He can feel it, then, bone-deep, pulling him down like an anchor. The school corridors change shape, suddenly narrow: a couple of girls laugh in the distance, lockers opening and Eliott can see them, he knows what they sound like, but he can’t hear a word. The only thing he can hear is red, wet, in the middle of his ribcage. Too fast, way too fast, almost on the verge of bursting. The edges of his sight become blurry. Everything happens so quickly, then: running through the corridors, closing the bathroom door behind his back, locking it, falling against the wall until he’s suddenly sitting on the floor.

He makes himself rest his forehead against the tiles, hoping for the cold to calm him down. It’s not just a sound, now, his heart. He can feel it everywhere. In his toes, his knees, pushing against his lungs.  _One, two, three_ , in intervals, trying to breathe. It doesn’t work. The bathroom feels like an underwater cave, everything dull and starting to spin.

A knock against the door. Soft. He can’t almost hear it through the fog.  _One, two, three._

“Eliott?”

Eliott opens his eyes, suddenly alert. He knows that voice.

“Eliott?”, again, a bit more insistent.

He makes himself speak. Pushing down his heart, dry mouth. He’ll talk through his teeth if he has to.

“Yeah. It’s me”.

He’d like to say more. To explain the unbelievable wave of relief that hearing his voice on the other side of the door sends through his body, but he doesn’t have words. He doesn’t have a way of saying them, anyway, no air. He lets his head fall between his legs instead, pushing against his temples with his knees.

He expects Lucas to ask. If he’s okay, if something’s happened. It'd be the logical thing to do, after all. Eliott tries to find a way to answer in case he does ask, too, in order to avoid the imminent mess. He doesn’t want Lucas to see him, not right now. He knows what he looks like. Lost eyes, sweating, white as a ghost. He can’t let Lucas see him like this, let him  _understand_ what it all really means.

He isn’t expecting him to jump. Lucas lands next to him and it must’ve been a pretty big jump, if he’s crossed from the bathroom next door over the wall. Eliott doesn’t know, though. He doesn’t know anything. The only thing he knows is that his heart is beating on his throat and suddenly on his sleeve, too, when Lucas’ fingers touch his naked arm.

It’s just a touch. Light, from the other side of this thick veil that surrounds him now. He barely notices, but it’s there. Warm. Real. Eliott hangs on to it, the only thread of reality keeping him tethered to the pull of the Earth.

“Eliott. Eliott, can you hear me?”

Like trying to claw its way through honey. He listens to him like this, half way, making himself latch onto the sound, deciphering the words, one after the other. Hiding his head even more between his legs at the same time, to avoid chaos, Lucas seeing him like this. Scared. All sadness. Afraid of the light.

The mixture of panic and relief of having him there is so intense he feels he might be sick.

He can’t answer, so he just nods. Or what he at least hopes is a nod.

Just like in everything else, the only thing Eliott can do is hope that Lucas understands.

“Can I touch you?”

It’s a complicated question, full of edges. Touch. A hard concept, now, when everything feels oppresive and intense and about to explode. Lucas’ fingers tingle on his forearm, sending a slight current of electricity, waking him up.

Half delirious, half by instinct. Eliott nods again and the moment in which Lucas’ hand catches his, holding his wrists with such, such care, the world seems to regain at least part of its balance back.

“Eliott, can you look at me?”

It’s hard. To be naked like this, clothes still on. Feeling his fingers suddenly against his jaw like butterfly wings and looking up, searching his eyes silently. Sweaty, tired, gasping uncontrollably for breath.

Lucas’ eyes look as clear as always. Crystal-like. Transparent, the Seine once, millions of years ago.

When he speaks again, his words are as soft as cotton candy.

“Let’s breathe together, okay?”

Surprisingly, they do. It takes some time. Lucas’ fingers glide through the skin of his wrists, the exact spot where his pulse beats and jumps like an animal would. Eliott recognizes the breathing tecnique being whispered to him, the patterns, when to inhale, exhale —wondering for a moment if Lucas could’ve ever had all these problems once, too, if he knows all this. If this is how he learnt all this stuff too, stumbling through everything, looking for answers in white, cold websites in order to try and stop this creature from taking over his body when he’s scared and alone.

Their fingers intertwine, like second nature and Eliott doesn’t know if it was Lucas or him, but he can feel the heat of his fingertips, the way he strokes the back of his hands with his thumbs. They keep looking at each other, not letting go. It would be a little weird, maybe, any other time, but Eliott holds onto it now as something dear and precious and lets himself be guided by his lips, the bridge of his nose. The orders,  _inhale, exhale_.

When the axis of the world feels a little more stable, edges of his vision crispier, the first thing he feels is shame.

Of being here, like this —of breaking like this, too, in a dirty bathroom at ten in the morning in the midst of a chemistry lesson, like the only thing he has is a couple of loose screws in his head. He wants to hide it again, this same head, between his legs. Make them not shake and stand up and walk out of the bathroom, ignore that this has happened altogether because it should’ve never had happened, in the first place. It should never happen, something like this.

Lucas’ fingers bring him back from his own thoughts. Delicate, they slide up the bridge of his nose and up his forehead, as if he wasn't completely soaked in sweat. He runs them through his hair so carefully, slowly, avoiding any knot. Soft, trailing to the back of his neck and caressing him there, sending tingles down his spine. 

It feels comforting. Terribly comforting. The kind of comforting that means that Eliott could get used to it.

“How are you feeling?”

It takes a couple of seconds. Almost in silence. Lucas is all stark shadows against the milky white tiles.

_If you were to let me go right now, I would break in half._

Eliott tries to breathe. He manages, kind of. It's not as bad as before, at least.

“Better, I think”.

Lucas’ fingers stop at his jaw. His hands both cup his face, hold him while his thumbs wipe away the wet track of tears and Eliott feels them there, real, more real than anything has a right to be. Lucas smiles, a shy curve, and maybe he could resist, but not today. Not now. Shame still bubbles in his stomach, a liquid-filled flask, but Eliott leans slightly against him and Lucas answers, lets him hide his face in his neck and then he thinks of nothing at all.

Lucas smells of coconut and men cologne and something more, something that reminds him of strong coffee and cinnamon and which Eliott picks up only like this, nose pressed against his throat. It calms him even more, hearing Lucas breathing this close. The slight oscillation of his chest directly against his ear, showing him the correct, slow rhythms, heat surrounding them.

Eliott’s not exactly aware of the moment in which his arms tighten around him, but they do, getting him even closer than before. He can feel the ghost of a tender kiss against his temple and that’s all, for a while, beyond the leaking of the bathroom tap. Water. Lucas’ heart. The silence, suddenly a blanket of warmth.

“I’m sorry”.

Later, an undefined blur of time after. Whispered against Lucas’ throat, where only he can hear it, just like a heartbeat.

It’s like Eliott has surprised him, somehow. He shakes a little, hugs him a little bit closer. Eliott can feel the slight tingle of his fingers against the skin of his waist.

“Why? You have nothing to be sorry for”.

“I’m sorry for being a burden like this”.

Lucas answers are fast and quick, like a slingshot. Not even letting him doubt himself.

“You’re not a burden”.

“Look at me. Of course I am”, Eliott shakes, trying to remember the whole thing. “How did you know I would be here?”

“I was distracted, looking through the door. I saw you running. I ran after you”.

It sounds simple. So simple. Like everything Lucas does, all the time. Like everything feels when Lucas is there.

“It’s not normal. That you have to worry about me like this”.

_I hate making you worry._

_I hate making you look after me because you’ll get angry and then you’ll get bored and then you’ll get angry again and just leave me and I won’t be able to think nothing that isn’t I told you so._

Lucas is staring at him, now, again. Hands around his body, his eyes look even bluer up close. Eliott makes himself not look away. 

“No one decides normal, okay? You, me, this is normal. And we’ll do it however times it’s necessary for you to be okay. Okay?”

It’s not really okay. But it’s hard to think about it, now, when Lucas is holding him like this, whispering softly in his ear, not showing the slightest hint of letting go.

“Lucas?”

“Yeah?”

_I love you_.

_Thank you. For this. For coming. For not leaving. For making me believe for a little while in a future where you still want to be with me._

He doesn't say any of it. Not exactly. Or maybe he does.

Truth is a tricky thing, after all.

“At the same time, on the other edge of the universe…” 

Lucas' smile is bright and electric, taken off guard, the moment he hears those words. And just like that, suddenly, it's a game. Their game. A secret of their own.

“At the same time, on the other edge of the universe”, Lucas answers, tightening his embrace, “we’re lying on a beautiful clearing. It’s Summer, July, and the Sun is shining. There is no school. We have infinite hours and really good weed and food. Lots of food. Of choco bars that don’t come from vending machines and never run out”.

Eliott laughs. Sudden, directly from the stomach. It feels good.

“Oh, and there are also raccoons, trying to steal our food. But we scare them away”.

“How on Earth? They are the masters of robbery, Lucas”.

“My piano skills will work. I’ll astound them with my prowess. They’ll have no other choice but to retreat back to their little raccoon homes and weep”.

“Their little raccoon homes”.

“Yep”.

It shouldn’t be that funny, but they laugh until it hurts because in the middle of that bathroom, faced stained with tears, it somehow is.

“It worked, you know”.

“What worked?”

“With me. The piano, that night. I’m sure it’d work on them, too”.

They're close. So close. Eliott can't pinpoint the moment when it happened, but Lucas chuckles and he can feel his breath against his own cheek.

“Well, I can’t change the seasons or bake chocolate bars at all, and we’ll see about that raccoon, but the other things, I’d say we could jump into our spaceship right now, yeah?”

Eliott can’t hold it in. It’s not a choice he makes but rather something that just happens, like waves crashing or rain falling to make everything feel new. Lucas’ lips are warm against his, soft when they touch, and it’s not strange, them kissing, but at the same time it is. Everything feels raw and bright and shiny, right then, on the floor of that school bathroom when life shouldn’t make so much sense, but it does. Eliott can feel Lucas opening his lips just a bit, enough to lick into it, to feel the heat. Liquid, slow, almost melting. Tongues brushing in a spark. They kiss until they feel numb and weak at the knees, until every dimension bends on itself.

They start with a kiss, weaving galaxies with every touch.

Eliott thinks that the edge of the universe feels pretty close right now.

**Author's Note:**

> Some things I wanted to clear up:
> 
> \- English is not my first language at all, so I did my best  
> \- I needed a classmate, so made-up Jacob it is  
> \- Anxiety attacks come in a lot of different shapes and forms: I used myself as template here, so maybe it feels different for a lot of people out there, and that's okay  
> \- That's it. Eliott, take all the time you need <3


End file.
